


Departures

by FlockOfPigeons



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Elsewhere (Blaseball)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 01:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30148416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlockOfPigeons/pseuds/FlockOfPigeons
Summary: Jesús goes elsewhere, and finds a familiar face
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19
Collections: Canada Moist Talkers Fanfiction





	Departures

Elsewhere feels a lot like home, in a way Jesús doesn’t quite understand.

He stands upon a rocky coastline, a coastline that doesn’t exist in his version of Halifax. The dry land is almost unnerving, he’s so used to the the manmade structures keeping what is left of the city afloat. He doesn’t remember before, but feels the bittersweet tug of nostalgia in his gut all the same. 

Feet crunch down the beach behind him, and he looks over his shoulder. The tears come almost before the recognition sinks in. 

“York.”

The boy stands with his hands in his pockets, shifting almost uncomfortably, until Jesús nearly knocks him over as he sweeps him up in a hug that leaves him dangling precariously in midair. 

“Hey!” York says. Then softer, “Hey. I missed you too, buddy.” They stay like that for a while before Jesús sets him down, and they sit. 

“Why are you here?” Jesús asks, then scrambles to recover, “not that- I’m happy, I am, I just- How?” York shrugs. 

“I dunno. It was different for me. But I think... I think the walls between the Hall and the  everything else  are thinner here. I think when you got pulled here, so did I.” He elbows Jesús. “You’ve been thinking about me, you big softie.”

Jesús tries vainly to dry his eyes. “No shit, I have. It was so...” He hunches his shoulders forward. “It’s been so long since I saw someone burn. And it was  you .”

York stares at the sea, expression unreadable. “Yeah. It was me.”

“Yours wasn’t like this, then?” Jesús asks, changing the subject, trying to dispel that distant look. York smiles sadly and shakes his head. 

“No. It wasn’t.”

“Was it bad?”

“Yeah.” The boy’s expression is soft, that ever-present hope that he has always carried himself with returning, but faint. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk about it, after. I should have. I trusted you guys and...” he picks up a pebble, mindlessly throwing it towards the water. It skips one, two, three, and sinks. 

“It’s okay. Really,” Jesús says. “You’ve been through hell. You didn’t have to relive that for us.” He leans back, rocks crunching as he shifts his weight. “I just wonder why mine isn’t...”

“Horrifying?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

York cocks his head, thinking. “I don’t know for sure, but I think this place preys off of fear. It did for me, anyways. And you... you’re never afraid, not really. You worry.” He laughs. “Too goddamn much, a lot of the time. But it’s never about you. Fear lives here,” he reaches out, rapping his knuckles sharply against Jesús’s skull. “All those worries... they live here.” He lays a palm over Jesús heart. “Promise me one thing, will you?”

Jesús simply nods. 

“Don’t get scared. Not for long, anyways. Don’t let that become who you are. We’ve all been scared for so long, and it keeps us from living. Keeps us from growing.” He gestures at himself. “Sometimes literally, I guess. I wonder if that’s what eternal Friday was all about, sometimes. We think that being young keeps us safe. But it doesn’t.” He swallows hard. “It just makes the losses hurt more. And it doesn’t keep us from remembering. I have too many memories for my body, and I’ll never get used to that.” He sighs. “Or at least. I did.”

“Are they taking care of you down there?” Jesús asks. York smiles. 

“Yeah. They are. You had some really good friends, Jesús. The Hall’s not all bad.”

“I did. I do.” Jesús gives York a gentle punch on the shoulder. “Two damn good best friends, too.”

York throws an arm around his shoulders. “Damn right you do.”

A stiff Atlantic breeze blows, carrying with it the smell of salt and seafoam. As it passes, Jesús feels the weight around his shoulders lift, and knows without looking that York is gone. 

He looks anyways. 

Whispers goodbye. Stands. 

Carries on along the shore. 


End file.
